“Forgive me for not talking to you ahead of time, Reynolds.” LeBeau swirled his wine.
“Excuse me, sir?” What was this man up to?
LeBeau waved the other two servants from the room and settled back in his chair.
“I see the way Thea looks at you. You’re a good man, but I have someone else in mind for my daughter, a fellow planter named Major Leander Thomas. They courted before the war. He only needs a little more persuading, but Thea is impatient. She thinks she has to grab a husband before they’re all gone.” LeBeau swallowed more wine. “Thomas comes from one of the finest families in the county and has a thousand acres of good bottomland. I’m not opposed to your keeping company with my daughter for a stroll or a dance, as long as you know where she’s intended.”
Second rate? Not good enough for his daughter? Thank God. He’d welcome the insult if it saved him from Thea. But what about the man’s niece? What was expected there? Hispulse strummed at the base of his neck. Foolish. He had no intentions toward Morning Fawn, other than making amends for past wrongs. Had her uncle mistaken kindness for something else?
Devon deflated his voice, doing his best to present a token of regret. “I understand and respect your decision, sir.” He tugged his coat sleeve to his wrist. The sooner he got into his own clothes, the better, but that wasn’t going to happen until the mission was over. Destroying as much cotton as he could—that was the mission. Not looking after a girl who speared him with her eyes every chance she got. “But what about your cotton? Shouldn’t I work on arranging the shipment instead of escorting the ladies?”
“All in due time, Reynolds. With the uncertainty of the invasion forces on the coast, I’m not ready to move it yet. Waiting might also give me a chance to avoid the government getting their grubby fingers in a portion of the profit. But you’ll have a chance to make connections in Columbus while the ladies shop. I’ll write you a couple of references.”
Devon rubbed the back of his neck and chose his words carefully. “Since you’ve been upfront with me, sir” —the man had hardly done any such thing—“I’ll return the favor. I’m not looking to marry. My wife was very dear to me. My heart is not open to new love.”
The corner of LeBeau’s mouth quirked up. “Love isn’t a requirement for marriage. But thank you for clarifying your position.”
What kind of dismissal was that? “I will very likely never remarry.”
“I understand.” LeBeau tapped his fingers together. “I’m simply asking you to look after Beth and my wife tomorrow. I have confidence you can restrain my niece. And I’d greatly appreciate it if you’d stick around for the time being. With all the unrest on the coast, we’ll need every gun we can get if worsecomes to worst.” His host’s voice took on a wistful note. “Beth reminds me of her mother, not in features necessarily, but in heart. I cannot and will not allow her to throw herself away on some rebellious adventure. If giving her the land buys her a settled, respectable life, so be it.”
Could land really buy all of that? What about love? Not his concern. But a flash of memory sent his heart thudding. Hazel eyes, her fingers around his neck, a dreamy voice… Stupid. He’d better get ahold of himself by tomorrow, or he’d be chasing her halfway to Dallas.
CHAPTER 9
Tension seeped from Morning Fawn’s shoulders as she fingered the empty hole on the window sash. The moon shimmered through the scantily clad branches of the cottonwood. She inhaled as a cool breeze drifted beneath the window where she’d raised it an inch. A smidgen of freedom, courtesy of Devon Reynolds, and proof she wasn’t trapped despite the locked attic door. Obviously, her uncle wasn’t ready to trust her yet. But the fact that she was going to be allowed to journey to town tomorrow was nothing short of a miracle.
Was Reynolds responsible for all of this? The splintered gouge scraped her skin as she rubbed the spot where the nail had been. Reynolds wasn’t a kind man. Of that, she was almost certain. Yet she couldn’t squelch the trace of warmth that spread through her chest, defying the depths of her skepticism.
Morning Fawn cupped her elbows. The man didn’t deserve her gratitude. Two days ago, he’d dragged her back here. Seventeen months ago, he bribed someone in her tribe to lure her to a nearby canyon. She’d stuck her knife into the side of the man who sneaked up behind and grabbed her. A steel grip hadyanked her off the wounded scoundrel and thrown her to the ground.
The new attacker had shoved her face first into the pebbled sand, his knee boring into her back. Strong, muscular hands had wrenched her arms backward, grinding a rope around her wrists as if she were some calf to be tied.
He’d bent down, his breath hot against her ear. Spanish, the trade language of the frontier from the high prairies to Mexico, had poured from his lips. “I don’t want to hurt you. But I’m not going to let you kill him, and I’m not going to let you warn your tribe.”
That was Devon Reynolds. And if his hard blue eyes had softened a bit since then, she shouldn’t let it fool her. He cared more about money and his own interests than the people he hurt. It didn’t matter that he’d freed her from the attic cage for dinner and saved her from another dose of laudanum. She couldn’t trust him. She had no idea of what scheme he might be up to. Maybe he wanted the land in Parker County, and this was his way to get it. Or perhaps he felt guilty for ruining her life for three hundred dollars and was trying to make amends. Either way, she wanted nothing to do with him.
Now, marriage was the price to be paid for land and freedom—the choice of a groom narrowed to only those who fit her uncle’s specifications. What kind of freedom was that?
She pressed her forehead to the pane and closed her eyes.God of my mother, where are You?Was her imprisonment on this plantation a punishment? She’d fallen short so many times.Don’t leave me alone. Please.
A shiver ran through her as she straightened. Two nights ago, she’d stood here with Reynolds. Well, not reallystood, as she’d been sliding down the wall. He’d carried her to the bed. And then? Left like a gentleman. At least that seemed to be what happened. It was all a bit blurry. “I’ll give you the moon.” The words trailed across her memory, the residue from adream-soaked whisper, too vapory to grasp. Had Reynolds really said that?
Morning Fawn peeked out the porch window. A heavy sheen of early-morning dew coated the courtyard. Breakfast had been a quick affair in her room. Fine by her. No Thea, no uncle, no critique of her manners.
A steady murmur of wheels and hoofs sounded on the gravel drive as Reynolds drove up in the new Victoria—a one-bench, open-front carriage with a raised driver’s seat. He’d donned his butternut-colored uniform again. One of the servants must have finished scrubbing the dirt and sand out of it. Odd, how the shell jacket fit him snugly, hugging his muscular arms. One would have thought after all those weeks in an enemy hospital and tramping about the country making his way to Texas and halfway up the state that the wool would have hung loose on his limbs.
He secured the brake and climbed down. A frown settled on his face as he glanced at the carriage. She didn’t blame him there. She’d much rather have a horse and saddle beneath her and ride in the open air than to be shuttered inside on cushioned seats, elbow to elbow with her aunt.
A flock of geese honked overhead.
Removing his tan slouch hat, Reynolds raked his fingers through his thick brown hair, sweeping a couple of wayward strands from his forehead. No pomade. The man wasn’t a dandy. Any man who could travel to her village beyond the Palo Duro and make it out alive again with a captive knew how to live rough and survive on little.
He glanced her way.
She ducked behind the curtain.
Hurried footfalls sounded on the stairs. Her aunt reachedthe landing and strode toward her, with a blue wool bonnet in hand. “Here, wear this. A perfect match for your dress.”
